


growing pains

by petalloso



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:45:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15939209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalloso/pseuds/petalloso
Summary: Keith didn’t know anyone else but Lance who would stop to admire the way the rain looked in the light of the street lamps. Drizzling. Like golden mist.“Do you like the rain?” He asks softly.“I love it,” Lance says even softer, head craned, watching it gently fall.He wanted to kiss him. But he wouldn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever. He was content enough to watch him watch the rain falling.





	growing pains

**Author's Note:**

> this is a repost bc the first draft was jfkdaj #Bad. i hope this is an improvement but tbh idk anything anymore 
> 
> i have not seen s8! maybe i will eventually but whomst knows! my semester just started also and i'm dying jdflks;a someone help us 
> 
> anywhomst thanks for clicking and maybe reading hope u enjoy <33333
> 
> tw; mentions of a housefire/death lmk @petalloso.tumblr.com if u have any q's

Keith wakes to the sound of thunder, so close it shakes the windows beside him. He pulls back the curtain and peers out to the grey sky, watching for lightning. There’s a flash of blueish purple behind the clouds, and he counts the seconds until he hears the roar that follows. 8. Divided by 2. It was about a mile and a half away. 

The next boom of thunder is so close his heart actually quickens for a second. Bernard jumps up onto his bed and shoves his head into the space between his arm and torso, meowing loudly. Keith scratches his head in comfort. His own or Bernard’s he doesn’t know. 

It’s only six thirty in the morning, but now that he’s awake he doesn’t think he’ll be able to fall back asleep, a consequence of the unrelenting storm and also his restless body. He supposes it’s a small blessing, given what he’d been dreaming about, to be awake now. Still, his eyes burn. Probably more so because he slept in his contacts. Again. 

He gives Bernard one last pat on the head before rising from bed, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders like a cape and trailing it to the bathroom. It falls to the floor as he leans over the sink to pinch out the contacts that stick to his eyes like little octopus tentacles. He blinks the feeling away and rinses his face, then peers around rather blindly for his glasses. They are sitting on the sill of the bathtub. He puts them on and looks down to a clearer Bernard, who rubs himself against Keith’s legs, begging for breakfast. 

Keith lugs him up into his arms and heads downstairs, lets him launch himself off his chest to the floor and scoops dry food onto his paper plate of a feeding bowl. Keith always figured he couldn’t tell the difference, and they needed all the dishes they owned, which was two of each. 

He wonders if Shiro woke to the storm. He wasn’t a deep sleeper, but recently he’d been so exhausted coming home that Keith would look at him passed out on the coach and wonder if he was still breathing. He’d once read that cats would sometimes paw at the air in front of their humans’ mouths, just to check. And that they would also eat you if you weren’t. 

He looks at Bernard as he pours a bowl of Fruit Loops, who’s munching away at his breakfast. 

“You wouldn’t eat me, would you?” 

Bernard, typically, does not answer. 

“Well, I guess I couldn’t blame you if you were starving without me to feed you.” 

Keith takes a bite of cereal. He forgot to pour the milk. Now he’s too lazy to. He takes the bowl back to his room with him, cracking the door to Shiro’s room open as he passes. He’s passed out on the bed, sleeping through the thunder, though over the blanket and sheets and with his work clothes still on. Still, Keith supposed it was a step up from the sofa. And at least he’d gotten his shoes off. 

Keith shuts the door, letting the knob go slowly so as not to risk waking him. He continues to his room and sits on the bed, chews a spoonful of cereal and then checks his phone. 

**GMAIL**

**Schedulefly**

**Your manager has added the following work shifts to your schedule:**

**Saturday 6/10 4:00 to closing**

**Sunday 6/11 4:00 to closing**

He supposed he’d just have to skip group again. More shifts meant a higher paycheck, which was nothing to complain about. Their rent had gone up a few months ago. Shiro deserved to sleep without his shoes on every night. 

Bernard walks back in just as another clap of thunder shakes the window, and promptly jumps onto Keith’s bed and licks his hand, as if in comfort. Keith scratches his neck and wonders if Bernard thinks, somehow, that the loudness of the storm is not all he needs comfort for. 

  
  


“Five fifty, please,” Keith says as he takes the customer’s card and quickly swipes. He flips the iPad so the man can sign the check and thanks him as he steps away. 

“Hey,” Keith says, nudging Pidge in the ribs. “I’m gonna go on break.” 

“FroYo again?” 

“What do you mean again?” 

Pidge tilts her head in that comical way she always does. Her glasses are so dirty he’s surprised she can even see through them. It was probably all the grease from the fries, smearing on the glass whenever she went to fix them. 

“You’re there almost every break. Hoping your schedule’s lined up again, hm?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Say that to the fifty some points you’ve racked up on that rewards membership.” 

Actually he’d surpassed fifty points, had gotten a free yogurt for it, and was now about a quarter of the way to his next one. But he wasn’t about to indulge that information. It would only help her case. Which was, as he would like to think, nonexistent. 

“I’m going on break.” 

“You’ve said that,” Pidge says with a smirk.  

Keith takes off his visor and flips one last burger patty before exiting from behind the counter. 

“I wasn’t lying. Bye.” 

“See you in fifteen. And get me a brownie bite.” 

Keith thought about not doing that as he walked out, but he’d probably cave into his unyielding endearment for her and get her a pile of them, in the end. This happened, he thought, almost every time. One day he’d be strong enough to eat them before she got to it. 

The frozen yogurt place was about ten steps away from where Keith worked. As such he visited far too often, almost every work break, to be precise. 

He steps inside and immediately spots Lance, who’s wiping tables in the empty store, head bobbing ever so slightly to the store music. Keith only knows his name because of the name tag that is pinned to his grey work shirt, not because he’d asked his coworker like some creep stalker, having missed the name tag all together. Lance had drawn little sunflowers around his name. 

He looks up from the table he’s wiping, spray in one hand and towel in the other, and smiles that smile of his. It’s just friendliness, Keith knows. This place advertises that sort of thing. They hired their workers on how nice their smiles were, he’s sure. And Lance had a nice one. 

“Hey, welcome in,” he says. Keith smiles in return and goes for a cup to start filling. 

Pistachio is back in cycle. It’s his favorite flavor, even though Pidge said it tasted fake and the fact he liked it made him an even older old man than she’d thought. But with almonds-- heaven. Sometimes he’d top it with bursting boba, even though it completely ruined the flavor theme. 

He fills his cup and then sprinkles almonds and boba on top, then grabs another and puts Pidge’s brownie bites in it. He figured he’d be nice and get her more than a few. 

“Just the two today?” Lance asks when he places them on the scale to weigh. 

“Yeah.” Even the one word is hard to get out without his cheeks burning to tomatoes. 

“Rewards number?” 

Keith gives him his phone number and waits as he types it in, grabbing a spoon as he does. 

“Alright, that’s gonna be five forty-two.” 

Keith hands him his card. He swipes it, but the machine only beeps at him. He swipes it again. And then a third time. Only on the fourth does Keith remember he forgot to deposit his paycheck. He curses. 

“We can try and enter it manually,” Lance says, more like a question. 

Keith shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry. It’s… I forgot to go to the bank. I’ll just…” he stares miserably and embarrassingly down at his already melting pistachio froYo. Guesses Pidge isn’t getting any brownies today. 

“You’re definitely not throwing that away,” Lance says. 

Keith looks up at him, stares dumbfoundead as he leans over the counter, swipes the spoon from Keith’s loose defeated hand, and sticks it into his cup of froYo. 

“It’s yours. Don’t worry about buying.” 

Keith’s brows wrinkle. He peers at Lance, who stares adamantly back. 

“I’m not— won’t your manager be pissed?” 

“Nah,” Lance says with a shrug of his shoulders and a confident smile. “You’re a regular, and she loves me.” 

_ Who wouldn’t,  _ Keith’s brain very unhelpfully adds. Keith ignores it.

“Okay,” he says, although his hands are still reluctant to take his yogurt. “Um, thank you. A lot.” 

He stacks his cup on top of the other, effectively squishing Pidge’s brownie bites but too distracted by Lance’s smile to care all that much. 

“See you later,” Lance says, as Keith pushes the door to the store open with his hip. His break isn’t even half over, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop thinking about their encounter anytime soon if he doesn’t have something like work to distract him. 

He sits in the corner booth of the restaurant to shovel his pistachio froYo into his mouth at a speed never before paralleled, ignoring Pidge’s questioning glances in his direction until he’s done and heads back to the counter. 

“These aren’t brownies,” Pidge says as she looks down at the cup he’s handed her. “They’re brownie-flavored pancakes.” 

“They taste the same,” Keith says, putting his visor back on. It makes his forehead sweat and sometimes break out, but it also hid his eyes a little, which was a fair tradeoff in his opinion. 

“Aesthetic, Keith,” Pidge says to him, popping a brownie-flavored pancake into her mouth.  

“Your taste buds can’t tell the difference.” 

“Of course they can,” she says through a mouthful. “They are refined.” 

“Sorry,” Keith mumbles. He sounds kind of miserable even to his own ears, which he isn’t. Just distracted. And a bit annoyed about the lack of distraction from his distraction, given it’s been a slow day. 

“Hey, you okay? The brownies are fine, you know. I was just kidding.” 

“No, you’re fine,” Keith assures her. “I’m good. He gave me my yogurt for free.” 

“Good to know he’s just as sickeningly nice as his smile makes him out to seem.” 

“But he doesn’t even know me. What if he gets in trouble?” 

“Dude, he’s probably worked there for years. I’m sure he has privileges. Besides, it’s cute. People don’t just do that, you know.” 

“I think he does.” 

Pidge hums and shrugs her shoulders, flipping a patty and then turning back to look Keith in the eyes. “Maybe. Maybe not. But now you know each other just a little better. Stop moping about your unfettering guilt and rejoice in the cute work neighbor’s kindness.” 

Keith frowns. Then has an idea. 

  
  


Technically he’s not supposed to take another break tonight, but Pidge shoves him from outside the front of the counter with all the might of a five foot two ninety pound dwarf, which was surprisingly quite a bit. 

He clutches the paper bag of fries in his bag. He put in the extra greasy ones, because they tasted the best, so the bottom of the bag is darkened by the grease. He fills two small containers of their special fry sauce, stacks one on top of the other, and then makes the ten step journey to the store beside them, shooting Pidge a wobbly smile on his way out. 

The door rings upon his arrival, giving him little time to mentally prepare himself for the offering. He wants to kick his brain for making this into such a big deal. It wasn’t. It was an equal exchange. Based entirely upon a mutual understanding of customer service. 

“Oh, hey,” Lance says, looking up from where he’s refilling the spoons behind the counter. “Back already?”

“Yeah, I uh…” He stares dumbfoundedly at the doodles on Lance’s name tag. “Here,” he gets out, placing the paper bag on the scale as though to weigh a cup of frozen yogurt. “They’re pretty fresh.” 

Lance looks just a tad confused for a moment, a handful of spoons paused in mid air, before understanding seems to settle into his expression. He smiles, wide and bright, takes the paper bag and shoves his entire other hand into it, the one not holding the spoons, coming up with a handful which he then shoves into his mouth. 

It’s a look. Spoons in one hand and fries in the other. It’s also probably against food handling protocol, but he wasn’t about to say that. 

“Oh my god,” he says through a mouthful. “Thank you, Keith. I’ve been smelling them all day and thought the little monster in my stomach was about to crawl it’s way out for some.” 

Keith is mostly caught on the fact that he knows his name, and on the way he said it. Less on the apparent monster that lives in Lance’s stomach. Which is the weirdest way he’s heard someone describe hunger. 

“Technically I’m not supposed to eat in the bubble, but again, Allura loves me.” 

Allura. Keith’s never heard the name before, but judging from context she’s his manager. 

Of course he knows his name. He wears a nametag, too. It’s not crazy for him to have said it. 

But he said it. 

“Dude, these are heavenly.” 

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, even though he’s pretty tired of them. “It’s mostly the grease.” 

“Ima put them in the back for now. Thank you so much. You didn’t have to, though.” 

“It’s only fair.” 

Lance finishes putting the spoons in their holder, with one hand no less, and then turns back to Keith as he places them back on the front counter where they belong. 

“If you continue to bring me fries, let’s say, every now and again, I will continue to give you froYo. Free of charge.  _ That’s _ only fair.” 

He can almost see the twinkle in his eyes. Like this is some black market’s deal. Like they are two conspiring smugglers trading in contraband. Keith wonders if Lance is a dramatic kind of guy. He kind of wants to find out. 

“It’s a deal.” 

They don’t shake on it. They pinky promise instead. 

It was far more honorable, Lance said, and honor was important in a deal like this. 

  
  


It’s a long close, longer probably because Keith had been distracted the entire time and Pidge was too busy teasing him for either of them to do their work in a timely manner. 

They get it done, though. Eventually. It’s five past eleven when Pidge finally locks the door behind them and they walk towards the parking lot together. 

“Hey,” Pidge says, nudging him in the side. “Look. It’s your favorite ice cream guy.” 

“It’s frozen yogurt,” Keith corrects, ignoring the incessant and rather obnoxious hammering in his chest at the mention of any sort of cold dessert guy to look over to where Pidge is indicating. 

Indeed, it is Lance of the frozen yogurt, swinging the doors to the trash and recycling closed. He hasn’t seen them yet, but as he heads over to his car Keith realizes that he is parked right beside him. 

“Heh,” Pidge says. Keith kinds of wants to step on her foot. But it’s tiny.  

“Would you look at that,” he says instead, thanking whatever being in the sky for Matt’s timely arriving, Matt who is flashing them with his lights obnoxiously and has also braked so hard a few feet away from them that he’s probably left scuff marks on the road. “Your brother is here. Goodbye.” Then he shoves Pidge at the small of her back towards Matt’s car. 

“Hey, rude,” Pidge says, but follows Keith’s launch of trajectory towards the passenger side of Matt’s car. She opens the door, but just before getting in, turns back to Keith. 

“Don’t freak out.”

“I won’t,” Keith tells her. “Goodnight, Pidge.” 

“Goodnight.” And then she slams the door closed, and Matt takes off at a hundred miles an hour, california rolls at the stop sign, and heads off into the street towards home. 

Keith perks his ears for any sounds of an accident, but there’s nothing, so he continues towards his car, pulling out his keys and unlocking the doors. 

Lance is sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, door open and one leg sticking out. He’s turning the key to the ignition, but the sound of it doesn’t seem promising. Even in the dark, Keith can gage the worried, slightly exacerbated expression on his face. He goes over to him. 

“Hey, are you okay?” He says. 

Lance startles a bit, his shoulders jumping. Keith is just about to apologize but Lance takes only a second to recover himself. 

“You don’t happen to have jumper cables, do you?” He asks with a nervous smile. 

As a matter of fact, he does. 

“Oh, that’s awesome,” Lance says. “Can I use them? And also your car?” 

“‘Course,” Keith says. He walks over to the trunk of his car, Lance following, and pulls out said cables. He hasn’t used them in a while, but he thinks he remembers how. He directs Lance to the front. 

“Is your car in neutral?” He asks. 

“Yup.” 

“Okay. Pop the hood.” 

Lance does so, and Keith stares at the inside of Lance’s car, taking a moment to configure himself and his hopefully extensive and retained car knowledge. He knows what he’s doing, he’s sure, but still, the nerves are getting to him. 

_ Don’t freak out,  _ Pidge told him, a farewell even though they were opening together tomorrow.  _ Farewell, my dear friend. Do not freaketh outeth.  _

He pops his own hood, attaches the red end of one cable to his battery and then the other red end to Lance’s. Then the black end to Lance’s, and finally the other end to his own. He hopes he got the order right. Maybe not. They would have to wait and see. 

As Keith goes to his car to start the engine he pictures both cars exploding, erupting into a flurry of flames and both he and Lance succumbing to the scalding fire. Pidge would find them burnt to toast when she opened in the morning and perhaps wail over his shish kebabed body. Probably not. He starts the engine. 

Nothing blows up. When Lance turns the key to his engine it sputters for several seconds before it finally starts. Keith breathes a sigh of relief. Then he gets out to remove the cables and shut the hoods. 

“You’re gonna have to keep the car on for a while,” he tells Lance, coming back around to his side after he deposits the cables back in his car. 

“Sounds good,” Lance says, stepping out of the car but leaving the keys in the ignition. “Thank you so much.” 

“It’s no problem,” Keith says, ignoring how close they are now that they’re stuck in between the space between their parked cars. “I can stay, and keep you company.” 

“Would you?” Lance laughs, rubbing the back of his head. “I mean, thank you. Again. I don’t wanna say I’m a scaredy cat, but this empty parking lot kinda gives me the creeps at night.” 

“No, I get it,” Keith says, going to sit on the hood of his car. He pats the space beside him. Lance hops atop. “Empty parking lots at night always seem to exist on another plane.” 

“Exactly!” Lance says. “It’s just eerie.” 

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, and for a moment they are silent, legs dangling side by side, neither of them tall enough to touch the pavement. 

“Hey,” Lance interrupts, gazing weirdly at Keith’s face, so close Keith can make out all the freckles splattered across his cheeks and nose under the light of the streetlamp. He thinks they’ve darkened since the start of summer, that there are a hundred more of them. He wonders, idly, if they spread to his shoulders and chest, or lower. Then he mentally shakes his own shoulders. 

“Yeah?” 

Lance brings a hand up and pokes at Keith’s cheek. Keith’s brain sputters like Lance’s dead engine had. 

“What’s this?” 

At first it takes Keith a moment to understand what Lance is asking, on account of the proximity of his face, all those dumb freckles, and the tip of his finger still lingering on his skin. 

“Oh,” he says. And brings his hand up to trace it just as Lance’s falls away. “I was born with it.” 

Lance hums, still observing. “It’s a cool shape. Looks almost like a burn scar actually.” 

“Yeah. It’s funny. I never knew my mom but in the pictures she has two just like it, on both sides. I didn’t know you could inherit birthmarks, but maybe it’s just a coincidence.” 

“I took a genetics class once,” Lance says. “And birthmarks are genetic, but you can’t actually inherit them, if that makes sense.” 

“I have to say I don’t really know the difference.” 

Lance laughs. “Yeah, that was pretty unclear. Basically, some kinds of birthmarks have a genetic component to them, like they’re caused by some kind of mutation after conception. But you can’t pass down a birthmark from parent to child, which means it’s not hereditary.” 

“Weird,” Keith says. 

“Yeah, genetics are weird. Super fascinating, but really complicated.” 

“Sounds like it. I didn’t know you were interested.” 

“Oh, yeah. It’s an amazing field. I mean, there are some species of cephalopods that can edit their own genetic sequences. And there’s this entire subfield of genetics called epigenetics, which is all about the change in gene expression based on your ancestors lifestyles and exposures to the environment. Some people think you can even inherit emotional trauma.” 

“Wow,” Keith says, and thinks. “That is kind of amazing.” 

“Right? But I’m not all science. I know this sounds crazy, but sometimes I find myself believing in things like reincarnation, or fate.” 

Keith kicks his legs, palms pressing into the metal of his car. He turns to look at Lance. “Why reincarnation? Isn’t that kind of a farfetched idea?” 

Lance hums, as though in agreement. “Yeah,” he says. “Definitely. There’s nothing to back it up, but it’s such a hopeful idea. That we get chance after chance to live a life that is meaningful, or to meet the people we’re supposed to each time.” 

He supposes it is nice to think that people are bound to meet again in each life. He’d like to think that he and Shiro were always meant to be brothers. That he was always meant to work at the burger place next to Lance’s frozen yogurt place. 

Maybe in another life his father lived. His mother stayed

“I like that idea,” he says. “Then I can try again next time.” 

Lance looks at him curiously, like he doesn’t entirely understand or like he knows there’s something underneath the surface of the words. Though there isn’t. At least he doesn’t think there is. 

But then Keith realizes it’s been a while of them sitting on the hood of his car, the sound of Lance’s running car in the background, and that when he checks his watch it’s actually been twenty five minutes, which is fifteen minutes longer than Lance had to wait to go home. 

“Hey,” he says, stopping Lance from whatever it was he was going to say. “I think you’re safe to drive now.” 

“Oh,” Lance says, like the thought is new to him, like he’d forgotten that was a thing in the first place. Almost like he’s disappointed, which the thought of does something to Keith’s heart. “Right. Guess I better head home.” 

“Yeah, me too.” 

“Well,” Lance says, jumping down from the hood of Keith’s car. “Thank you again.”

“For sure. Drive safe.” 

“You, too. And for good measure…” Lance pulls out his phone and hands it over to Keith. “Put your number in. And text me when you’re home safe.” 

“Okay,” Keith says dazedly, taking the phone and typing in his number. He hands it back to Lance, who types something quick. Keith feels the buzz of it in his pocket, still seated on his hood. 

“If I don’t get a text back I’ll assume you’ve been kidnapped on the way to your door, and then I will call the police and they’ll show up in the middle of the night only to find you asleep in your bed, having forgotten to let me know your safe.” 

Keith laughs in a way he doesn’t remember himself ever laughing, completely unabashed. “I won’t forget,” he says. “I promise.” 

Lance smiles. It’s really a beautiful smile. It hurts to look at. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

  
  


Keith tiptoes into the apartment as quietly as he can. Shiro is sleeping on the couch tonight, shoes on, mouth agape. He kicks off his own shoes and then goes over to Shiro to untie his shoelaces and pull his shoes off. He grumbles a little but stays asleep. Keith places a blanket over him. Then he texts Lance. 

_ I’m back. Don’t call the police.  _

Barely two seconds later, his phones buzzes back, three times in succession. Shiro mumbles something again. 

_ its been saved for another forgetful night _

_ im glad youre safe _

_ have a lovely night !!!!!!  _

Keith smiles at his phone, making his way to his bedroom. Bernard jumps down from the sofa where he’d been staring at Shiro in a rather disturbing away and follows him there. 

_ You too,  _ he types and sends. And then he thinks maybe he should have replied with something more elaborate. You too have a lovely night. You as well. I have a big fat work crush on you. 

He settles instead on absolutely nothing, putting his phone down before he does something stupid with it and pulling off his pants and shirt. Bernard jumps on top of his bed, right underneath where his butt was about to sit. Keith pushes him a little, and he goes willingly. 

He takes off his contacts, even though he should’ve washed his hands first, and puts them in their rightful home. Too tired to do much else, he lays down on his bed, pulls the covers over, and grabs his phone to stare once again at the screen. 

_ you still up?  _

Keith types out a quick affirmative. 

_ same watcha thinking about?  _

Keith kicks at Bernard, who is currently attacking his feet from on top of the covers. 

_ Not much. My cat’s attacking me. You? _

_ ohhh you have a cat? what’s his name?  _

_ Bernard.  _

_ very cute  _

Well, not really. Keith had been criticised many a time for his choice to name a cat something so oddly human and mundane as Bernard, of all things, but he’s stuck to it. He was fond of it. 

_ Yeah. I think so too. Although not so much right now.  _

_ maybe he’s hungry?  _

_ No, he’s just bored and playing.  _

_ send a piccc  _

Keith opens his camera, is assaulted with a very unflattering view of the lower half of his face, and flips the camera. Bernard has settled on his lap, but he looks up as Keith points his phone at him. 

The picture is kind of terrifying, actually. Kind of blurry and with Bernard’s eyes glowing hugely from the flash of the camera. Keith sends it. 

_ he looks like he’s ready to murder  _

_ He won’t, don’t worry.  _

_ watcha still doing awake anywhomst? _

Talking to you, he might say. But that was obvious. What was less was that most nights it took him a while to fall asleep, and that when he did it wasn’t for long. 

_ Not much, really. Just takes me a while.  _

_ same my mind goes crazy at the worst times  _

_ do you use ice cubes to cool your soup?  _

It’s a bit random, but given the prior admittance to active minds at inopportune times Keith thinks it’s quite a fitting question. That maybe the randomness is something of Lance’s, like a character trait. 

_ No way. It dilutes the flavor.  _

_ see that’s not true!!! broth is water anyway, and u get to eat faster that way  _

_ I’d rather wait.  _

_ impatient aren’t you  _

As a matter of fact, it is one of his defining character traits, as Shiro would likely attest to. 

_ Nope. Just like my soup with flavor.  _

_ well, agree to disagree  _

Keith is just trying to come up with an adequate response when Lance sends another text. 

_ my sis just came i nt to complain about my laughing, so i better say goodnight  _

_ again  _

Keith stares at the screen. If it were black he knows he would see the reflection of his own dumb smile. 

_ Okay. Goodnight. Sleep well.  _

_ you too <3 _

And he does, but only after a good half hour thinking about that heart that Lance sent. And what it might mean. And if it meant anything at all. 

 

The next morning, Keith brings over a bag of the greasiest fries they have. He comes back with a cup of brownie bites for Pidge and a loopy smile. 

The day after that, Lance comes in to order a burger and fries for break, and leaves a five dollar tip in one dollar bills. Keith complains to him, but he is adamant, and Pidge is, as she puts it, flabbergasted by his incredible generosity, but also definitely not at all surprised. 

The day after that, they sit together during break, Lance with fries and Keith with pistachio froYo, and Lance asks him what he’s going to do when they swap out that flavor, to which Keith responds he will never set foot in the store again, to which Lance balks, offended, but not long enough to keep himself laughing, and promises to pre package some for him to take home. 

The day after that is his day off, and he spends all day thinking about the sorts of things he wants to ask him when they meet for break again. How he really only has fifteen minutes to ask them all. How he sort of wishes he had a little more, but how he doesn’t really know how to ask. 

  
  


Keith can see him helping customers through the glass, barely twenty feet away. It’s a hot day, so people are lining up outside the doors for frozen yogurt, not so much for burgers, although they’ve got a good line of people, too. Someone else is working with Lance who he’s never seen before. Maybe she’s new. 

“Hey,” Pidge says. “Get me some brownies on the way back.” 

“Who says I’m going over today?” 

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Um, that longing look on your face mayhaps?” 

Keith looks away from her, mostly because he knows she’s right. He’s got a paper bag ready to throw fries into, and a sharpie beside it that was used to write  _ Lance  _ in black letters. When their customers die down, he’ll take it over. Not in hopes of another free yogurt, but for other reasons. Mainly Lance. 

He has to wait a good thirty minutes before their after dinner rush is over, and then he shovels some fries into the paper bag, rolls the top, and tells Pidge he’s going on break. 

She reminds him of the brownies. He waves from behind on his way out. 

Lance is talking to his coworker when Keith walks in, but when he hears the bell of their door he turns to greet the customer, only for his face to light up when he sees Keith. His hands feel heavy. 

“Keith! My fries? Oh my god, you angel. I’ve been smelling them all day.” 

He is, as Keith has recently learned, often this exaggerative.  

Keith places them on the counter in front of him and watches Lance shove a hand into the bag and promptly shove a handful of grease into his mouth. Behind the counter. Right next to his coworker. Who is, according to her nametag and Keith’s memory, the manager. 

“Oh,” Lance says through a mouthful, and Keith almost thinks he’s about to balk and apologize about eating during work, but instead he says, “Keith, this is Allura. The manager who loves me.” 

Allura smiles, although it looks a bit pained from what Keith can tell. “I wouldn’t say love,” she says, her accent slightly English. “Perhaps fond of. It’s nice to meet you, Keith. Lance has told me about you.” 

Told her about him? That was a sentence that most always terrified Keith. What exactly was told. What was there to be told. 

“Nice to meet you, too. Um, sorry about the fries.” 

“Oh, don’t be. It’s very kind of you. Lance should know to take them to the back,” Allura says, and then snatches the bag from Lance’s greasy fingers. “Where I will be taking them right now, and eating them myself.” 

Lance pouts, his lower lip sticking out. It reminds Keith, oddly, of Bernard when he’s sad and wants either attention or food. “Aw. Save me some?” 

“No,” Allura says, and then grins, winks at Keith, and walks away to the back with the fries, her long white hair swinging behind her. 

Lance watches her and his fries go, and then he turns back to Keith and smiles. “Well, I know she will. She’s too nice not to.” 

“She seems… very managery.” 

“I know, right? But seriously, she’s great. I confess I had a huge crush on her when I first started working, but that went nowhere, obviously, and I’m kind of grateful for it. She’s an awesome friend.” 

Keith nods, a little dazed. His heart’s a little deflated, too, hearing about Lance’s former crush, but honestly she’s beautiful, so he’s not surprised. He smiles. 

“She seems like it. I’m gonna grab some froYo real quick.” 

“Sounds good. Also, Allura approves of our deal, by the way, so she’s here but it’s still free of charge.” 

“What, why?” 

“She owns the entire establishment, so she can do what she wants. And she has a soft spot for you.” 

“She just met me.” 

“Yes, it’s very easy to like you upon first sight. Anywhomst, it’s more like I have a soft spot for you so she has a soft spot for you by association.” 

Which is. A lot. Keith’s brain is running circles trying to catch up to all the meaning behind Lance’s words. A soft spot. Soft. 

“Um, thank you,” he says, which is nowhere near close to expressing the constriction of his chest and the maddening butterflies in his stomach. 

“No problem. Also, do you like swimming by chance?” 

He does. 

“Awesome. I know we close pretty late, but if you’re not too tired do you wanna check out this lake by my house tonight?” 

He does. 

“Alrighty. Meet outside after closing?” 

He will. 

  
  


Lance drives a truck. He hadn’t before, Keith knows, because he’d jumpstarted a Camry just a few nights ago. 

“It’s my sister’s. I’m still too paranoid to drive the other one.” 

“Did it not start again?” 

“No,” Lance says, taking a turn into some abandoned street that would be ideal for a kidnapping and subsequent murder. “It’s all good. I’m just a scaredy cat. Also this truck has a comforter and pillows in the bed.” 

“Do you sleep there?” 

“Only on warm nights.” 

Keith can’t tell if he’s joking or not. 

“We’re here,” Lance says before Keith can figure it out, and puts the truck in park, swinging the door open and hopping out. 

Keith steps out and follows him to the edge of water. It’s pretty, a small lake hidden in what might be a forest but with fewer trees and more flowers. The buzz of cicadas and the chirping of crickets surrounds them, but mostly he just hears Lance breathing beside him. The water is still, disturbed only by the occasional falling of something in nature too small to make out. 

“I didn’t bring anything to swim in,” Keith realizes. 

“Me, neither,” Lance says. “I never do. Usually I just go in my underwear.” 

“It’s pretty much the same thing.” 

“Pretty much.” 

Keith shrugs, and then he reaches to pull his shirt off, tossing it aside to go for his shoes and pants next. It’s not a cold night, but the hairs of his arms still rise, as though nervous. 

He turns to see Lance too has stripped down to his boxers, and that he’s grinning at Keith. 

“Nice hippos.” 

Right. His underwear had an interesting print. He wishes he could say they were a gift, but he’d bought them himself. Limited edition. 

Something keeps him from embarrassing himself over it though. Maybe he’s growing more confident, or maybe his fondness for hippos is simply too great, but his cheeks heat only slightly, and he grins. 

“Thank you.” 

Lance laughs, and follows Keith as he steps closer to the water, letting his feet soak before going in further. 

It takes the both of them several minutes to become fully submerged, on account of neither of them want to go in all at once, even though it’d make the whole process a lot easier. 

Eventually Keith dips his head in the water and comes back up with his hair soaking and sticking wetly to his skin. It’s probably getting too long. He probably looks like a swamp monster. 

He catches Lance looking at him weirdly again, floating lazily on his back but eyes towards him. He looks away when Keith meets his gaze, closing his eyes to the feel of the water. 

Keith wonders what he might be looking at. That maybe all the other times over the last week, he’d imagined it. Maybe he had a perpetual booger. Maybe his cheeks were grotesquely sunburnt from the summer heat. 

He lets his body float unto its back, much like Lance has, and they float in silence, bodies warming in the water but the parts that stick out cold even in the summer air. 

The reflection of the stars is something like Keith has never seen before. It’s like they are swimming in the sky. He almost can’t bear moving and ruining the light of them with the waves that his body creates. 

“It’s beautiful,” he says softly. 

“And kinda cold,” Lance says softly back.  

“That, too.” Even though he’s not that cold at all.

Something small like dandelion fluff floats down towards him, landing gently on the water as though speaking hello before joining the lake. 

After a while, long enough for their fingers and toes to grow wrinkly like prunes, Lance swims to shore. Keith follows, and they lay on the muddy grass, cold but forgetting to feel it, staring together at the stars. 

He can feel Lance’s gaze on him again, even though he can’t see it, and even though his body shivers he feels warm in his stomach, heat in the few inches between their sprawled limbs. He feels too, when Lance reaches over and plucks the grass sticking to his wet skin. 

His bones ache when it rained. They ache now. Keith thought he was little too young for that. Maybe it was because he’d broken so many. Or. 

“Maybe it’s just growing pains,” Lance says. 

Keith turns onto his side, his head resting uncomfortably on his arm so he can look at Lance. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been done growing for a while now.” 

“Nah,” Lance says, who had been facing Keith the entire time, and who now picks off another piece of grass. “You’re pretty short. I’m sure you’ve got at least a couple more inches on you.” 

“You’re only two inches taller.” 

“Two inches is quite a bit. I tower over you.” 

Keith flicks him in the hand that was reaching over to pick off more grass. Lance gasps and curls up over it. Keith laughs and apologizes. Lance grins. 

His hair is growing out, or maybe it just looks it from being wet. It covers his eyebrows in a distracting way. Keith turns away. 

“But for real,” Lance goes on. “Maybe it’s not physical growth, but like, mental.” 

“Or maybe I’m just getting old at an exponential rate.” 

“Well, that’s still growth isn’t it.” 

“You think weird.” 

“Oh, thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“We should get under the blanket.” 

“I’m not very cold.” 

“Weird. I was for a while but I’m not anymore. Like, not at all.” 

  
  
  


Lance drops him off at his car. It’s probably something like three in the morning, which is later than Keith has probably ever stayed out, but he doesn't feel sleepy. He feels wide awake, like he could run an entire marathon and not break a sweat. 

“Thanks for going along with my dumb idea to go swimming in the middle of the night.” 

“Thanks for inviting me. It was nice. I would do it again.” He still isn’t cold, though his work shirt sticks to his skin from the wetness, and his jeans feel gross against his legs. Also his butt itches in the unbearable way it does when you don’t dry well enough. 

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” Lance says.  

“Maybe you should.” 

Lance smiles, tilts his head like he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s searching for something. He looks at Keith the whole time, with that sort of distracted smile. It’s not like how he usually does. Not like how he smiles for his customers. It’s better. 

He wonders what Lance is looking for, and wonders if he finds it when he finally says, “goodnight, Keith. Drive safe. And remember to text me. You know the drill.” 

He does. 

  
  
  
  
  


Lance is a habit now. Or their being together is. After work. Before work. When neither of them work. Lance will ask him if he wants coffee, or ice cream, or to go to the nearest drugstore for candies and juice and sit in the bed of his truck, which is the only car he drives now, to watch the sky turn colors and then fade into the deep blue of night. 

Which is where they are now. Parked by the bridge downtown, on their backs beneath the comforter and heads resting on the pillows. Keith feels Lance’s hand pressing into his, but they do not hold. 

The sky is a burnt orange this evening. Keith has never liked the color orange, but looking up he thinks he could grow to. 

His mouth hurts from the sour candies he’s sucked on for the hours they’ve sat here. The corners sting, and his tongue, too. He takes another sip of apple juice from a can. It kind of spills onto his shirt, on account of his laying down, but he’s too lazy to care much. 

“One time I accidentally squished Bernard’s head with the bathroom door,” he says. 

Lance laughs. “How does that even happen?” 

“When he was a baby he was crazy. He’d fall over all the time and run so quickly he would slip. I was about to pee, and I heard his voice as I was closing the door, but I didn’t think he would be so fast as to stick his head in the crack right before I shut it.” Keith laughs. 

“God, I was so confused for a second. I was like ‘why won’t this door shut?’ And I almost tried again but instead I look down and it’s just his tiny face looking up at me. He didn’t even say anything. After that I grabbed him and cuddled him until he started purring again. I think I might have made him sick from treats, too.” 

“That’s so funny, I’m sorry,” Lance says. 

“I still feel so bad.” 

“I think he forgave you.” 

“Yeah, he’s a good cat.”  

“I want a cat. I have a fish, but she just stares at me and does nothing else.” 

“That’s pretty much what fish do, I’ve heard.” 

“They chillin’, I guess.” 

And they lapse into silence, but it’s not the uncomfortable kind. The radio is playing something but it’s too low to make out the words. So he and Lance make up for their own. 

  
  
  


He gets home past midnight. It isn’t the first time this week, or the last few, but it’s the first that Shiro has been awake when he walks in. 

“Hey, stranger,” he says from behind the kitchen counter, stirring a cup of coffee despite the late hour. Probably he’d grown immune to the effects of caffeine long ago. 

“Oh,” Keith says, tugging off his shoes and leaning down to pet Bernard as he greets him. “Hey. Sorry, I thought you’d be asleep.” 

“Me, too. Can’t seem to though.” 

“Want me to grab you some melatonin?” He asks, rising and going to the kitchen to stand next to Shiro, who lets him take his mug for a sip, even though Keith was far less immune to the effects of caffeine and would probably suffer for it for an hour or so. 

“Nah, it’s okay,” Shiro says, taking the mug back from him. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Yeah, you’ve been working so much.” 

“I miss you, Keith.” 

And even though Keith has known Shiro for almost all his life, the sincerity of his voice still catches him off guard sometimes. It’s like his brain is still trying to catch up, even after all these years. 

“I miss you, too.” 

“What’ve you been up to so late?” 

“Oh. I, um, I met someone next to work. We’ve been going out.” 

Shiro smiles in that knowing way of his. “Sounds nice. I wouldn’t mind an introduction, some day.” 

Keith isn’t opposed to that. It made him a little nervous, though, thinking about. 

“Maybe,” Keith says. 

“You’ll have to think about it, hm?” 

“Yeah,” Keith says with a smile. But once he’s said it he doesn’t think he really has to think much more at all. 

  
  


Pidge left five minutes ago with a bag of leftover fries and a bunch of brownies, leaving Lance and Keith to loiter around in the parking lot. They should go home. Keith doesn’t particularly want to. 

Lance has stolen a shopping cart and is currently convincing Keith to get in. It doesn’t take a lot of persuasion. 

“Just hold it steady, though,” he says as he climbs in, nervous when is rolls around a little but trusting Lance to keep him and the cart upright. “Why are we doing this again?” 

“Because fun, Keith.” 

Keith grumbles. 

“Alright,” Lance says, once he’s settled, turning the cart so it faces the most open space of the parking lot, like a plane facing down the runway. “Ready?” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, and even though it’s not very convincing Lance goes anyway. 

He starts off slow, using his feet to skate down the pavement, but it only takes a few seconds to pick up speed, and pretty soon Keith’s brain and all his limbs are rattling violently in the cart, and he’s afraid they’re going so fast they will topple over, but he lets out a whoop anyway. Then spits out a stray tuft of hair that the wind had caught in his mouth. 

Lance goes next, and they switch off until Keith goes overboard and so does Lance, cart toppling over with him in it. 

He apologizes profusely before laughter wracks him, and Lance, too. Until they are both exhausted and their stomachs hurt from it. 

Keith is checking his knees now, examining the scrapes. He’s stolen a water bottle from his car and pours water over them, but Lance doesn’t seem to be in any pain. 

“That was terrifying,” Keith says, resting his head on the palm of his hand once he’s washed away the blood and gravel from Lance’s injuries, elbows on his knees as they sit on the sidewalk in front of their cars, the only ones left in the lot. 

“Nah. It wasn’t that bad. Anyway, nothing can me more traumatizing than it was in the moment.” 

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Keith says. There is a bird hopping around on the pavement a few feet away from them. 

“Well, maybe not,” Lance agrees. “My mom would say remembering is worse than living it.” 

“She’s mostly right,” Keith says. “It lasts longer, the memory anyway. And you remember it differently, but in worse ways.” 

Lance looks at him, in that searching way again. There’s nothing inside of Keith to look for. Everything was at the surface, easily seen and easily understood. He was simple.

Still, Lance asks like he doesn’t believe that’s true. 

“What happened to you?” 

“What?” Keith asks, even though he knows the question’s meaning and knows exactly its answer. 

Lance does not look away. “What happened, for you to know that so well.” 

Keith stares back a moment. Lance’s eyes don’t distract him anymore. They ground him. He could swim in them. He feels like he’s had that thought a thousand times, but it feels new each time. 

“When I was little,” he says, clears his throat and starts again. “When I was little my dad died in a fire. He could have lived if he hadn’t taken the time to come and find me.” 

He stops, finding his next words. He can’t stand to look back anymore, so he focuses instead on the bird that hasn’t flown away yet, as though he’s curious enough to stay and listen. 

“I know it seems ridiculous, to ask a father to leave his kid behind, and I’m sure I hadn’t thought that while I was alone in that burning house, waiting for him to find me, but now I do. I wish he hadn’t. I was too young to remember it. But I feel it, and when I have dreams, it’s always worse than the memory of it.” 

“Wow,” Lance says, and by the sound of his voice he means it. His next words send something like a chill down Keith’s spine. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” 

Lance does not hesitate to find his words. He sounds entirely genuine. It’s a sincerity that reminds him of Shiro, in an odd but entirely fitting way. 

“For trusting me.” 

Keith stares at Lance, at the tiniest smile on his lips. He looks sad, like he’s grieving for him in that moment. Keith wonders about the significance of something like that. How he never allowed himself to, how maybe Lance sensed that in a way, and was making up for it. 

“I would trust you with anything,” he says. He doesn’t know if he meant to say it aloud, but he knows it’s true, and he speaks it despite everything else about him that before this never would have.  

Lance smiles brighter, the skin beside his eyes crinkling up. “Me, too.”

And then it begins to rain. Even though it’s the middle of August, eighty degrees and past midnight. It lands gently on the crown of his forehead. 

Keith didn’t know anyone else but Lance who would stop to admire the way the rain looked in the light of the street lamps. Drizzling. Like golden mist. 

“Do you like the rain?” He asks softly. 

“I love it,” Lance says even softer, head craned, watching it gently fall. 

He wanted to kiss him. But he wouldn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever. He was content enough to watch him watch the rain falling. 

  
  
  


Now that Lance was is in his home he notices all the things he never has before. Like how they use thumbtacks to hang their keys by the door. How they’ve got soaked coffee filters used as napkins on the counter. 

And it’s not that he’s embarrassed. He has no reason to be, he knows. He just wonders, in a faint, curious way, what Lance thinks. If he even notices. If he’s familiar with this kind of home or if he’s not. 

“Oh,” Lance says from behind him, as they tiptoe gently to his room. Keith looks back and finds Bernard sniffing at Lance’s feet, curious about the new visitor. He seems to feel fond of him after a few moments interrogation, because he promptly rubs himself all over Lance’s legs. 

Lance smiles and leans down to pet him. Bernard flops over onto his belly, a hello and welcome. Lance avoids petting their though, despite Bernard’s seeming invitation and clearly experienced with cats, and scratches his neck instead. 

“He’s even cuter in person.” 

“He can be a menace,” Keith says, leaning down to join the party. 

“I’m sure he’s just going through a rebellious phase.” 

Keith laughs, softly so as not to wake Shiro, who is asleep in his room given he’s not asleep on the sofa. 

Bernard loses interest after a few minutes, licking Lance’s hand a few times before strutting away down the hall. They watch him go, and then continue on to his room. 

It’s not dirty, per se, just a little messy, some clothes kicked into a pile in the corner, books unshelved, bookmarked but never finished that sit in piles on the desk. He’s left the lamp on, and it’s the only source of light in the room, glowing a low orange and illuminating everything. 

He gestures Lance inside and closes the door behind him. If Bernard wants to be let in he’ll meow from behind the door or otherwise stick his paw underneath the little crack.

Lance sits on his bed, bouncing up and down a few times as though trying to evaluate the mattresses’ spring. Keith sits down beside him, lacing his fingers on his lap, feeling a humming nervousness in his stomach and chest, but anticipatory. 

“Your bed is super comfy,” Lance says, and then plops down on his back. 

Keith turns to look at him, and he smiles. “Why, thank you. It’s made entirely of cotton candy.” 

“Excuse me? I’m supremely jealous. I bet you wake up in the middle of the night feeling a little hungry and just take a bite of your bed only to fall right back asleep.” 

“That’s exactly what happens.” 

“I knew it.” 

“‘Course you did.” 

Lance pauses, looks at him like he’s thinking to say something, but needs a moment to find the words. 

“Thank you,” he finally says. Keith blinks, cheeks heating. 

“For what?” 

“Letting me stay over with you.” 

“Of course.” 

“I’m just… really glad to be here.” 

Keith bites his lip. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says honestly back. And then there is a silence, awkward but not in the worst way. Keith runs a hand through his hair, which is greasy from two skipped showers. Which reminds him. 

“You shower and I’ll go after,” he says to Lance.“You can take the bed.” 

“And you?” 

“Um, the floor?” 

“No way, Jose. We share the bed or we share the floor.” 

“Why would we share the floor?” 

“Right. So the bed it is.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” Lance repeats. “I’ll go shower now.” 

It takes him a second to let go of Keith’s hand, though, which now Keith realizes he doesn’t remember when he grabbed hold of. Who grabbed hold first. And when he does let go Keith feels just a little colder than he had before. 

  
  


He takes his time in the shower, only to ease the nervousness that hums throughout his entire body. He almost slips when he steps out, but rights himself on the wall, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. 

He forgets how long his hair is wet. It frames his face in a way he isn’t used to seeing. He brushes through it with the tips of his fingers, too lazy for a real brush, then brushes his teeth, dries off, and pulls on boxers and pajama pants, before stepping back into his room. 

Lance is laying at the edge of the bed, playing with his phone. His hair is still wet, too, bangs sticking to his forehead. Keith has the urge to push them back. 

“Hey,” Lance says, looking up from his phone. Keith thinks his eyes widen a little, though he’s not sure if he’s imagining it. He goes to the bed, jumps over Lance to the side facing the wall, back towards it and facing towards Lance. 

“Hey,” he says. 

It’s a small bed, not nearly large enough for the two of them, so there’s barely a few inches between them. Keith feels the warmth of Lance’s body beside him. 

“Your hair’s down,” he says. “And wet.” 

“Yeah?” Keith says, confused as to why Lance might feel the need to say that. 

“Sorry. It’s just usually up when you work.” His eyes scan over Keith’s face. Oceans. 

Lance reaches up, his hand hesitating, suspended in the air for a moment before he allows himself to reach and brush away the hair that’s fallen into Keith’s face. He holds his breath at the touch, warm against his skin. 

“I feel like in another universe I would have made fun of your mullet-esque hair, but it’s pretty. I can’t pretend it’s not.” 

Keith burns, stomach and chest aching. “In another universe,” he says. “I would kick you. But in this one I’d say thank you.” 

Lance hums, is about to say something when Bernard meows from behind the door. Keith climbs over Lance to let him in. He struts over to the bed and plops down at the end, where their feet are. Keith climbs back over, lays back down and pulls the comforter over their heads, so its darker and their breathes warm the trapped air. 

“Hey,” Lance says to the space. 

“Hey,” Keith says back. 

“What’s up?” 

“Not much, and yourself?” 

“Just trying to ignore the cat attacking my toes, appreciating the barrier of blanket that’s protecting me from his true wrath.” 

Keith laughs. It sounds stranger in the trapped air, softer but louder all at once. “He’s playing,” he says. “He likes you.” 

“I think he likes my toes more.” 

“Yeah, he’s weird that way. You know, once I woke up in the middle of the night, and Bernard was curled up next to me. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because it was so late, but I looked at him and suddenly was super amazed by him? Like, his tiny body was moving up and down as he breathed and his fur was sticking up at this angle, and I was like, entranced. It was weirder than his toe fetish.” 

“You had a moment,” Lance says. “Like when you look in the mirror and almost don’t recognize yourself.” 

“Or like when you look at someone close to you and realize they are completely separate beings that exist outside of your interactions with them.” 

“When you feel like an observer.” 

Keith hums, warmth searing his chest. “I don’t feel that way now.” 

“What do you mean?” Lance asks. His voice cracks. 

“I mean, I’m completely present. It almost hurts.”  

Lance says nothing. His pupils are blown. Keith can see it clearly at this distance. His mouth is parted, chest bare and hands reaching, but not having to go far to touch him. 

He places a fingertip and then two on one rib, and then traces it down to the next. Not looking down, never looking away from Keith’s face. 

“My mom would say you need to eat more,” he says, voice all soft in a way that makes his stomach twist. 

“I’m very healthy.”   

“Hm,” Lance says, and leans down to press a light kiss to his rib cage. Then comes back up, face to face with Keith again, their bodies flush together. 

Keith can feel the softness of skin against his own chest. It’s a new sensation, odd but comforting. As is the feeling of his breath against Keith’s lips, and the tickle of his lashes against his cheek as he blinks a butterfly kiss. 

He almost can’t stand it. How close they are and only growing closer. Arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled together. Keith has a hand in Lance’s hair. It’s so much softer than he thought it would be. Everything is so much softer. 

“C’mon,” he mumbles against his cheek. 

“C’mon, what?” Lance says, and Keith can hear the smallest waver in his voice, like he is afraid of the answer but only because he’s been waiting forever for it. 

“Kiss me.” 

“Okay,” Lance says. “Okay,” he says again, but Keith doesn’t let him a third time. He pulls him closer, parts his mouth and closes his eyes. 

At first they are still, two lips pressed gently softly unmoving together. But Keith presses closer, parting his lips, closing every inch of space between them. He pulls back to catch his breath for just a moment, but Lance chases him, misses his mouth once before finding it again. Decides he’ll miss again but everywhere. His nose and cheeks and forehead. Eyelids and chin and neck and ears. Keith counts them, a tally of every kiss he will give in return. 

“Lance,” he says. 

“Hm?” He mumbles, distracted, wanting. 

But Keith only wanted to say his name. Again and again. Once more after every last. 

  
  
  


Keith wakes to Lance curled around him, arm thrown over his chest. Light streaks in from the window, splaying itself over Lance’s tanned skin. It’s beautiful.

Eventually Lance’s eyes squeeze, like they are bothered by the light, and then they blink open, and he takes a moment to realize the feeling of being awake before he looks up at Keith, and smiles, soft and sleepy and beautiful. 

“Morning,” he says, or more mumbles, voice raspy. It goes right to Keith’s chest. 

“Morning,” he says back, letting Lance shift so he’s more aligned with his body, turning his neck so his head is resting on the pillow evenly with Keith. 

“You got a little cowlick,” he says. 

“Oh, really?” Keith says, smiling. 

“Really,” Lance says with a grin, eyes still squinting with sleepiness as he reaches up to smooth it away. “It’s cute. You’re cute.” 

“You’re one to talk.” 

Lance hums, pressing forward to plant a kiss on Keith’s lips. He’s not ready for it, but it takes no time at all to push back, parting his lips, uncaring of their morning breaths mingling together in what should be gross but actually isn’t at all. 

They spend too long in bed. The bedsheets tangle around their limbs, and Lance laughs when Keith almost falls off the bed in an attempt to straddle his waist. Keith figures it out eventually, and warms at the sounds of Lance’s breathing, the small noises he makes in his throat, the way he cranes his neck and runs his fingers down everywhere, feeling everything like he won’t ever get the chance to again. 

They kiss until their stomachs are rumbling for breakfast and Bernard is meowing from the door to be fed. Until Keith’s lips are swollen and hurt but in the best kind of way. 

  
  


Keith walks hand in hand with Lance into the kitchen, hair rumbled and yawning. Shiro is awake, holding a mug which stops in mid air when he spots the two of them. 

“Oh,” he says. “Good morning.” 

“Morning,” Keith says, releasing Lance’s hand and grabbing two mugs from the shelf to pour coffee. 

“Have a sleepover?” 

“Oh,” Keith says, eyes widening slightly as he passes Lance his coffee, remembering that Lance is new to the home. “Yes. This is Lance, my…” He struggles for a moment to place a word. 

“This is Lance,” he settles for. 

“Lance,” Shiro says, in the very adult-like way he does, like he’s committing it to memory. “I’m Shiro. Keith’s brother.” 

Lance smiles. Keith watches him from an angle, admires the little tuft of unruly hair at the top of his head, his tired eyes and pink cheeks and pink lips, more so than usual from all the kissing. The way he sounds when he speaks, raspy and tired. 

“Shiro,” Lance says, in almost exactly the way Shiro had just spoken his name. “Thank you for having me over, although I guess we didn't really ask. But it’s really nice to meet you.” 

“You, too,” Shiro says. “You’re welcome anytime. I have a feeling you’re the reason behind Keith’s late nights.” 

Lance laughs. Keith stares. 

“Yeah,” he says. “That’d be me.” 

 

Shiro makes them breakfast. Granted it’s just toast with butter because they’d run out of eggs two days ago, but no one is complaining. Keith sits quietly, watching them. 

He’s not exactly following the conversation, or he would have stopped it before it was too late. Shiro doesn’t usually practice restraint though, so in the end it’s not all that surprising the kind of private information he gives up. 

“Keith’s eyes water whenever he drinks orange juice,” he says. “Also when he yawns. Also when Bernard licks his face.” 

“Shiro,” Keith grits. “That happened once.” 

“He was having a bad day. It was cute.” 

Lance is smiling, not in a teasing way, but as though he definitely agrees. Which is mortifying but also makes it hard for Keith to not smile. 

He fails on that account, but doesn’t feel too bad about it. 

He spends the rest of breakfast listening as Lance tells Shiro about how squids can edit their RNA sequences, and about all the studies that have been done on the wonders of the cephalopod family and their odd but wondrous behaviors. Shiro leans in, mug in hand, intrigued all through breakfast. It’s the kind or morning that makes Keith want to stop time all together, just to live in it forever.  

  
  


He meets Lance on the stairwell between their respective workplaces, sitting on the side where no one will kick them in the back trying to walk up. Lance sits down beside him with a groan and a tupperware box, which he swiftly opens. 

“Try these,” he says in lieu of a greeting. Keith takes what looks to be a chocolate chip cookie from the container and promptly takes a trusting bite. Too trusting. He chews slowly, confusedly. 

“They’re salty,” he says after a moment’s realization.  

“Yeah,” Lance agrees, and takes a bite out of his own. “Felt like baking last night, but my mom gave me masa instead of flour. Oddly enough I don’t mind it.” 

Keith takes another bite. It’s not bad, per se, but a little odd, and not something he’d particularly go out of his way to consume. Still, Lance made them, so he eats the whole thing and then takes another, and the flavor sort of grows on him. 

“You bake?” He asks. 

“Not really,” Lance says. “I thought I’d try. Didn’t really go as planned, but maybe I’ll try again.” 

“You should,” Keith says. “I have a feeling you’d be good at it.” 

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you like me.” 

“Nah.”

“Nah, you don’t like me?” Lance says, smiling, teasing.  

“I definitely like you. Probably too much. But regardless of my bias, you’d be good at baking. Seems like your thing.” 

“Why thank you, but I’m mostly stuck on that first part. Makes my heart do all sorts of backflips.” 

“Your hearts a gymnast, hm?”

“For you, definitely.” 

“That makes mine do backflips, too.” 

Lance laughs, smiles, gummy and bubbly and beautiful. “Wanna kiss me now?” He asks, leaning in before Keith can even give him an answer. 

But, he supposes, the answer is his meeting in the middle, the slight tilt to his head, his hands around Lance’s torso, pulling him closer. 

He’s kissed people before, briefly and without meaning, but he’s never kissed someone so much that his lips felt sore afterwards, that he was left in a golden haze for hours, that no matter how many goodbyes he pressed to his lips, he always craved just one more. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Keith doesn’t usually speak at these functions, on account of his lack of articulation when trying to and the fact that he usually didn’t really know what to say. That he felt kind of guilty about trying to, because everyone here could talk about something worse. 

Shiro once told him it wasn’t fair to compare hardship, that someone always had it worse than you, but that it didn’t negate what you were going through. Keith had told him that was a load of bullshit, but he was beginning to understand it now. 

He clears his throat. 

“So, it’s been a while,” he begins. The room is silent, listening.  

“I don’t know why it took me so long to finally get here,” he goes on, looking down at his shuffling feet. “I guess it took me a while to accept that something happened to me, and that even though it was a long time ago, even though I’m happier now, and loved, it’s still a part of my life.” 

He swallows. It hurts but it’s supposed to, he knows. 

“I feel guilty that every time something horrible happens, I walk away fine. My dad died saving me. My brother lost his arm while I was skipping school. But I’m here, bodily intact, not having lost anything.” 

Someone speaks in the silence that follows. 

“You lost your dad,” she says. “You lost who your brother might have once been.” 

And it’s true. It’s true even though it’s hard to feel as though that kind of loss is anywhere near the losses of others. But that’s not the point. 

The point is that he can grieve, and that he shouldn’t feel like he doesn’t deserve to. 

“Yeah,” he says, slowly. Like his mouth is trying to believe what he is only just beginning to. “Yeah, I did.” 

  
  


It smells like waffles when he walks in, the scent sweet and strong. It’s the kind of smell he’d like a candle of, the one that lingered on Lance during work break and after when he didn’t bother changing out of his clothes. 

There’s no one in the store. It’s been a slow day for them, too, so he’s not all that surprised, only grateful for the privacy, happy as he makes his way to Lance behind the counter. 

He’s making a waffle cone, rolling it up with his fingers but gingerly like it’s still too hot for him to touch. Keith catches sight of the old burn on his forearm from the waffle maker. He remembers Lance telling him about it, how he’d been careless and it’d hurt like hell but the waffle he’d made through the pain was beautiful anyway. 

He doesn’t look up until he’s done, biting his lip in concentration as he presses down the end of the still soft waffle. Then he looks up at Keith.  

“Hey, burger boy,” he says, voice feigned suggestive, winking as Keith stops at the counter. 

“Do not call me that,” Keith says, placing a paper bag of fries on the counter between them. It’s got Lance’s name on it. Literally. Circled with a big, fat, and lopsided heart. 

“Burger boy,” Lance says again, grinning as he leans over the counter.

“Lance,” Keith wines, even as he leans over to meet him in the middle. 

“Fine,” Lance says. “Baby. Babe. Boo. You’re distracting me from my work.” 

“Looks like you’re done anyhow.” 

“Hm,” Lance agrees, smiling, a hand on Keith’s collar, tugging him those few inches closer. Keith watches his eyes scope out the store before they land back on him. It’s empty. Keith knows this. He kinda sorta planned it. 

“Good timing,” Lance says, lips brushing his but still not quite close enough.  

“Thank you,” Keith tells him. And closes the last of the space between them. 

The air smells sweet. Lance tastes sweeter.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> don't kiss ur boyfriends at work it's bad practice
> 
> thank you for reading ily and have a gud <3
> 
> (p.s. i have a real exciting klance wip that im real excited about but it could be possible months until i get my act tgthr and also School ahHH but just so u know that's a thing ahHH) 
> 
> hmu @petalloso.tumblr.com or @pininqkeith.tumblr.com i'd love a chat! 
> 
> thanki for reading again


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